More Than a Divided Country
by OliveOilMed
Summary: When Korea was divided by a war, twin sisters—Yu Mi-cha and Eun-cha—were separated as well. Fifty years later, their granddaughters are brought together through being Muggle-born witches: Kim Hae-won from the South and Ryang Young-jae from the North.
1. Prologue The Missing Yu Twin

**Prologue  
>The Missing Yu Twin<strong>

Outside a small house in the Korean village of Ondokkil, American troops were marching through the streets, doing their very best to keep order as the Japanese fled and the Koreans took back control of their country. This was the way it had been for days on top of weeks.

But it was in one small house in the village where the people who lived there took absolutely no part in the goings-on. It was an old woman named Mrs. Pak, along with twin girls named Yu who called her 'Auntie' that lived inside that house. But while Mrs. Pak had lived in the village for many years and was well known by everyone, it was the girls who lived with her who were almost universally regarded as odd. They went to the village school, but they never truly made friends with any of the other children there. Mrs. Pak often sent the girls into town to do the shopping, but their conversations never went past 'hello' and 'thank you'. The Yu sisters were very pretty—and identical down to every strand of hair—but none of the boys could ever get their attention. They ignored all them just the same as they ignored everyone else.

It was almost as though they were a whole different species that found themselves living among ordinary humans.

And while their Korean neighbors expressed outrage at the freedoms and liberties taken by the Japanese who had occupied the nation until the end of the war, Mrs. Pak and the Yu twins seemed oddly indifferent to everything that was happening. Of course, old Mrs. Pak was nearly eighty, so it was understandable that she might have the energy necessary for any amount of outrage. But the Yu sisters took their aunt with them to register under Japanese names with little outrage. They submitted to searches and neighborhood roll calls with stiff silence. Even when Korean school children were expected to prepare for the war that might come to Korea, the Yu twins did what they were told mechanically and with unreadable feelings.

It was rumored for a little while that they were Korean spies for the Japanese Emperor, but even the ruling Japanese in their village were regarded with the same cold distantness they graced everyone else with. They weren't loyal to Korea and they weren't loyal to Japan, which only supported the little children's wild stories of the twins not even being human.

This made it not at all surprising when even in the euphoria of the Allies victories and the Japanese leaving, the twins were still nowhere to be seen. Even when the American soldiers would march through the streets, throwing candy to the children, the girls never went past their gate.

And that was exactly where Yu Mi-cha, the quieter of the two sisters, stood that day; in the kitchen courtyard, keeping a safe distance from the gate that separated her home from all the chaos. From the other side of the gate, all anyone might have seen was a young girl, barely sixteen with smooth black hair and almond-shaped eyes, hugging the trunk of a crooked, leaning persimmon tree, watching the soldiers in a state of quiet awe. But nothing could have been further from the truth. She couldn't have cared less about the marching Americans, or the celebrating Koreans, or the fleeing Japanese. Her eyes were darting from face to face, looking for the one that was mirror image of her own; the one that belonged to her sister.

Mi-cha's sister, Eun-cha, had snuck out of their bedroom window last night and she still wasn't back yet. Eun-cha had pleaded her twin not to tell, and Mi-cha had reluctantly agreed. This morning, when Eun-cha still hadn't returned to their bedroom, Mi-cha had been able to convince Mrs. Pak that her sister was at the market and she had gotten up just after the sun had so that she could get the best selection. But as the noon hour approached, she was not sure how much longer she would be able to keep up the charade.

She couldn't believe she was missing her sister after only one night apart. The two girls had never been separated a day in their lives, even before their lives had truly begun. They were twins, identical in every way imaginable, and completely joined at the hip.

"Mi-cha…," a voice called out. "Mi-cha…."

The sixteen-year-old's head snapped to look over her shoulder. "I'll be right there, Auntie!"

Abandoning the show on the streets, Mi-cha rushed back into the house just in time to see Mrs. Pak struggle to gather up all the plate and pots needed to make lunch. "Auntie!" Mi-cha scolded as she took most of the metal kitchenware from the old woman. "You know you aren't supposed to carry all these things by yourself."

"You aren't supposed to be carrying them all by _yourself_ either! That lazy sister of yours is supposed to help you! Why isn't she back from the market yet?"

Anyone else probably would have been horrified by the old woman's cranky shouts, but Mi-cha simply continued on with carrying the plates and pots outside. Mrs. Pak spoke like this to everyone, even when she was in her happiest moods. Granted, it _had_ frightened Mi-cha a great deal when she was younger, but now she just accepted it as a quirk in the woman's character. "It's very chaotic outside because of the soldiers coming and the Japanese leaving. It can't be very easy to do any shopping on a day like today."

"Well, that girl is going to making dinner and cleaning it up all by herself tonight! It's the least she can do to make up for all the extra work she has been making _you_ do today!"

Mi-cha sighed to herself and continued on with the work of preparing lunch.

Mrs. Pak was not Mi-cha's aunt, nor was she her relative of any kind. There was never a time when the two girls did not know this. Mrs. Pak was just Mrs. Pak, and she was the one who had taken care of them for as long as they could remember. The twins had a mother and father, but they barely knew them. They had brothers and sisters, but they didn't know the names of the younger ones. Their parents had given their girls to Mrs. Pak to raise when they were barely three. Their parents would visit them once a year, usually, but the visits were always mostly brief and always uncomfortable for everyone involved.

As the girls grew older and began to ask questions, they were gradually told more and more about how their odd little family had come to be. There was a reason the twins had been given to Mrs. Pak and a reason why they saw so little of their true parents.

Mi-cha's parents were a witch and a wizard; they were able to do magic. Sometimes when they would come to visit, they would perform magic tricks for them; turning their schoolbooks into doves and making plates dance around the room. Their parents came from a long line of wizards that they could trace back more than a thousand years and sometimes, they would even tell the twins stories about their ancestors, but normally the topic of family history was very uncomfortable for their parents to discuss with the twins.

That was because, unlike their parents, neither of the twins were witches. They were what were known as Squibs, people born into wizarding families, but had no magical powers of their own. Squibs were quite rare, and most would be given away to either orphanages or boarding schools run by Muggles (ordinary people, ones without magic). People would say it was because it was the 'best thing for them', but the girls knew that having a Squib for a child was something that would bring a great deal of shame to a family.

Mi-cha and Eun-cha supposed they were lucky in that their parents had given them to a Muggle friend of theirs to raise instead, though just how their parents had become friends with the Muggle widow was something they never learned. And their parents _did_ still come to visit them. Many Squibs who were given up never saw their parents again.

Mrs. Pak, who barely understood what a Squib was herself, did her best to explain how the girls never would have been able to live any sort of suitable life among their parents' people. The kindest thing that could have possibly been done was to send their daughters to live with this dear family friend, raise them as Muggles, and hope they could become members of a society they might have a chance at fitting into.

But their parents, however, lived secluded lives, hidden from the world their daughters had grown up in. There was no way they could have known what kind of world they would be leaving their daughters in.

In the world their daughters had been placed in, Korea was not a free nation, and had not been so for decades. The Japanese made Korea a colony by force, and had been doing its very best to wipe away everything that made Korea Korean. That meant everything to the Korean culture, the language, and even eventually Korean names.

Their parents were always asking the twins to write to them, but in the world they lived in, this was not possible. It was against the law to teach the Korean language, so the girls had never learned. It was even against the law to _speak_ Korean, though Mrs. Pak and the twins still spoke it in the privacy of their own home. Their parents would also always remark on their daughters' poor vocabulary, but it wasn't as though they had a great deal of opportunity to practice.

But again, these were things their parents couldn't possibly understand. The twins had not even been able to use their Korean names for many years. On the day the Japanese emperor outlawed Korean _names_ as well, Mrs. Pak registered the three of them under the name Aoki, Mi-cha as Yumiko and Eun-cha as Masako. Their parents didn't understand why their daughters called themselves these new nicknames, but they had played along with it as though it were some sort of game.

But now Korea was free…and the twins had no idea how to be free Koreans. They weren't even very good at being _Muggle_ Koreans. Though, at the very least, all the other schoolchildren in the village were just as lost in this.

When Mi-cha looked out the window, she suddenly saw a familiar face: a girl who lived just down the street and who had been in the same class as Mi-cha and Eun-cha since they were eight.

"Haruka—" she called out the window, using the girl's Japanese name out of habit before correcting herself, "I mean, Hea-woo!"

The girl with short, trimmed hair peered through the bars of the gate, seeing her friend, the rushing and having towards her friend.

Chi Hea-woo was the daughter of the vice principal of the village school ('vice' principal because during the occupation, Koreans were never allowed to hold the highest offices of power). Any other time, Mi-cha probably would have asked her friend if he father would become the true principal of the school, but at this point in time, Mi-cha had other, more urgent worries on her mind.

"Mi-cha!" The girl's eyes drifted up to the very top of the iron gates. "You aren't going to leave the house _again_ today? I promise you, it's not half as dangerous out there as you think it is."

"Hea-woo, you've been in town all day?" Mi-cha asked her schoolmate. "Have you seen Eun-cha at all? She's been gone since morning and I have no idea where she is."

"Actually yes," the Muggle girl admitted. "I saw her walking in the market with that boy who dresses so odd…in those really old fashion clothes, you know? It's a good thing the Japanese aren't in control anymore; his head would be rolling otherwise."

But Mi-cha found herself too angered to find her friends words amusing. "Lee Bo-ram is back in town?" Her blood began to boil under her skin.

To say Mi-cha strongly disliked Lee Bo-ram was a massive understatement. He had started making regular trips into their village at the beginning of spring, and always made it a point to see Eun-cha while he was there. He might have been tall, handsome, and was always on the lookout for fun (much like Eun-cha), but that didn't mean she wanted her sister to be in love with him. He was also the first wizard the girls had ever met aside from their parents.

But that wasn't the reason Mi-cha distrusted him so much. The reason behind that was because Eun-cha had become completely infatuated with the boy, and Lee Bo-ram made no effort to show he didn't reciprocate these feelings. Mi-cha had never considered herself to be a suspicious person before, but there was absolutely no way she was going to believe a pureblood wizard was capable of falling in love with a Squib. Having a Squib be born into your family was shameful enough, it defied all reason to think someone would be willing to invite one into their family.

It just wasn't…socially acceptable. Even marrying a Muggle would have been considered a step up.

Of course, Mi-cha had brought up the subject of the visiting wizard—much to Eun-cha's annoyance—when their parents had come to visit last month, though little good that had done. Apparently, their parents and the rest of the Yu family were quite familiar with the Lees and had nothing to say about their son, Bo-ram, other than he was a very nice and respectable boy. Their parents actually seemed rather pleased that one of their twins was actually attracting the attention of a wizard.

Refusing to believe the notion that Lee Bo-ram was a 'good boy' and not trusting her sister alone with him, Mi-cha unlocked the front gate and made her way out onto the streets. She weaved through the dozens of bodies blocking her path, keeping her eyes open for her own mirror image.

"You have to come with me," Mi-cha called over her shoulder, "and tell me exactly where it was you saw them."

Mi-cha—with a quite confused Hea-woo—spent hours searching the village, but there was no Yu Eun-cha to be found anywhere in Ondokkil. She did, however, find several other people who claimed to have seen Eun-cha walking around with a young man wearing odd silk robes in the old Korean style.

"Mi-cha, it's getting late," Hea-woo finally spoke up, failing to stifle a yawn. "Your sister really didn't tell you where she was going?"

"No," Mi-cha admitted, even though it hurt her to say that her twin would do such a thing.

Hea-woo shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "I really need to go home now," she finally worked up the courage to say "My father will be furious with me if I'm not home before dark."

The two girls waited in silence for a long while, waiting for some sort of response from the other. Finally giving a resigned sort of sigh, Mi-cha nodded to her friend, relieving her of search duty. But even after her schoolmate left, Mi-cha remained standing in the center of the market.

She wasn't quite sure how to tell Mrs. Pak that she didn't know if her sister would ever be coming home.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Pak insisted again and again that she didn't blame Mi-cha for her sister leaving. Eun-cha was a grown girl now—not that she could be <em>forced<em> to do anything even when she was little—and even if they didn't like it, she was free to live her own life now, even if it meant going off to marry someone her family didn't necessarily approve of. So, in short, Eun-cha was able to go off wherever Lee Bo-ram would take her, and there was really no telling when she would be back.

For a long time, Mrs. Pak and Mi-cha just imagined that Eun-cha had been swept up by her wizard Prince Charming who had taken her back to the world she had been born into; the world where she belonged. They imagined that her children would be wizards and then _they_ would be her connection to the world she was born in and she would never have to think about Muggles or being born a Squib ever again.

Then came the day when that dreaming was proven to be as far from the truth as could possibly be.

Mi-cha had since returned to school since then; she had no choice. Now that it was no longer illegal to teach the Korean language, she had to learn to read and write all over again. Not that it was embarrassing, though. Everyone had to do it, even several former classmates who had graduated years before. She had been walking home from school that afternoon when she saw a young man standing in front of the flower stand in the market. He wore brilliant gold and violet robes in the old Korean style, _hanbok_, his hair long and tied at the neck like a horse tail in a long single braid.

There was only one person Mi-cha could image wearing this kind of clothing in a modern Muggle village.

"Lee Bo-ram!" she shouted, running after him. "Lee Bo-ram, came back here this instant!"

The boy turned around, his handsome face cast with amusement. "Eun-cha, where on earth have you been? I thought I lost you!"

"I'm _Mi_-cha and you know it," she growled as she approached him, clenching her fists at her side, "and you and I both know this is not the time for jokes!"

By now, people in the market were beginning to stare, though they were paying much more attention to the young man dressed in old fashioned, elaborate clothes than they were to the ordinary girl shouting at him. "You're here now," Mi-cha was screeching now. "Where is my sister?"

Lee Bo-ram held up his hands in an effort to quiet the girl and get her to calm down. "Hold on just one second, Miss Mi-cha. Even if your sister and I have been on rather…_friendly_ terms lately, what makes you think she and I joined at the hip." He straightened his robes and tried to joke once again. "After all, I _am_ an independent young man, still sewing my wild oats. I have no reason to settle down with one woman just yet. So even if you sister and I did spend some time together, why would I know where she is _now_?"

She couldn't help but feel a little annoyed that Lee Bo-ram felt they were on such informal terms.

"Don't lie to me!" she began to shout. "Chi Hea-woo saw you with her the day she disappeared. She said you told her you were going to take her away from here!"

Mi-cha stood on her toes so she could stand nose to nose with him. "And don't think that because I grew up in a Muggle village that I don't know how to make you pay if anything happened to her! I know how to get to the wizarding officials and tell that you stole a sixteen-year-old Muggle girl away from her family and that they not seen her in more than two months! Just how long do you think you be imprisoned for that sort of crime?"

At the first sign of conflict—or at least lack of ability to joke—Lee Bo-ram began to show the behavior Mi-cha would have expected him to show her. "Stay away from me, Squib!" he snapped as he shoved her away.

Lee Bo-ram was finally showing his true colors; ones that painted him as the type who would never have anything romantic to do with a Squib. But if he didn't have Eun-cha at his family home, getting to know her future in-laws, then where was she? And now he was regarding Mi-cha with the same attitude, walking away from her as though she were a piece of trash left in the street.

Suddenly—Mi-cha not quite understanding what had come over her herself—she tackled the wizard from behind, grabbing him by the neck. The sheer force of her rage sent them both tumbling to the ground, blood smearing across the dirt alleyway.

When he turned over, Lee Bo-ram reached towards his pocket—probably for his wand—but Mi-cha noticed this first, and grabbed painfully at his wrist, fingernails digging into his skin. The young man yelped and Mi-cha reached into his pocket, taking the wand for herself and throwing it as far as she could. The wand hit the wall of the alley, leaving Lee Bo-ram completely defenseless. He might have been the wizard and Mi-cha might have been the Squib, but she was the one who had the advantage here.

"No one's coming to save you, Lee Bo-ram," Mi-cha said dangerously, feeling oddly powerful as she held him down. "So I suggest you tell me where my sister is while you still can."

Mi-cha kept her hands wrapped around his throat, her grip just light enough so Lee Bo-ram could tell her what she wanted to hear.

"I did take your sister with me…" he managed to gasp, his eyes growing wide with horror, "…to the North…across what the Muggles are calling the thirty-eighth parallel. The only way you can get past all the soldiers is by means of magic."

Mi-cha nodded for Lee Bo-ram to keep talking, but kept her hands around his throat. It was no secret that no one went across the thirty-eighth parallel these days. The Communists were making things very difficult in the North and wouldn't allowed anyone to cross into the South except for official business, and no one from the South would dare go across for fear of not being able to return.

"Why did you take her to the North?"

It suddenly became very difficult for Lee Bo-ram to breathe, but not because of the hands around his throat. "There is an inn I took her to...in the mountains. I'm told it's a...very romantic place..."

Even the most naive person at the world could tell was Lee Bo-ram was saying about what happened, what he had done with Eun-cha, but Mi-cha fought the urge to kill him right then and there. "And _then_ what happened to her? Why isn't she here with you?"

"I left…."

Mi-cha waited for him to finish his sentence, but when all she her was the sound of Lee Bo-ram's rushed and panicked breathing, she finally understood what he had meant. Her grip suddenly squeezed tight around Lee Bo-ram's throat and she banged the back of his skull against the ground. "You left my sister there? You used her and you left her behind like trash?"

She wanted to kill him. She wanted to squeeze Lee Bo-ram's last breath from him, watch the life leave his eyes, and leave him in the alley like a piece of garbage, just like he had done to her sister.

But at the last moment, Mi-cha realized what she was doing and released her grip from around the wizard's throat. Slowly, she rose to her feet and stepped away from Lee Bo-ram. But then, at the last moment, she placed her foot on his chest. He could have easily pushed her away, yet somehow, Lee Bo-ram was held in place by the tiny foot covered by battered sandals.

"Lee Bo-ram, look at me," she ordered in a deathly tone. "Look at my face."

Reluctantly, the older boy met his eyes with hers.

"This is the face of the one you have wrong. The one you saw as mud beneath your shoes and treated as such. It will haunt your nightmares and follow you into your waking moments until the day you die."

Before she walked away, she kicked a cloud of dirt in his face, just to remind him how low she truly considered him.

Of course, Mi-cha had not been bluffing when she said she was going to contact the authorities about what had happened to her sister. Mi-cha had lost her closest friend, and someone was going to pay! As soon as she got home, she would contact her parents and have them contact the law officials for her. Even if Eun-cha was a Squib, their parents weren't quite so cruel as not to care that their daughter had been stolen.

But while everything was in place for revenge against Lee Bo-ram, Mi-cha had no idea how she was going to get Eun-cha back, and she had a feeling the wizarding authorities would know how either.

* * *

><p>Three years after her sister vanished from the village, Mi-cha married a wonderful man named Pae Jung-hee who had just finished studying at the university. Eun-cha was not at the wedding. One year after that, Mrs. Pak died in her sleep at age eighty-one. Eun-cha was not at the funeral.<p>

Then in 1950, when the Mi-cha (and Eun-cha as well) were twenty-one, the communists from the North invaded South Korea and war broke out; a war fueled by the Russians and the Americans. Mi-cha's husband begged her to come with him further south to get away from the fighting, and although it was clearly the wise thing to do, it was a decision that Mi-cha struggled with.

Eventually, they settled in the southern city of Jeonju. Together, they had three children, two boys named Dae-hyun and Kwang-ho, and girl named Soo-min. Eventually, their children grew up and started families of their own. Over the years, Mi-cha lost touch with her parents— they could very well come calling now that their daughter had a Muggle husband and was raising Muggle children—not that this really felt like much of a tragedy in her eyes.

But even after all this time passed, Mi-cha never stopped thinking about her twin who she had lost across the border. Every time the news broadcasted news of a famine or some threat of war in the North, she would think horrible thoughts about how her sister was suffering because of it. And even though she knew her sister was suffering physically, Mi-cha couldn't help but feel that she was suffering just as greatly from her missing Eun-cha.

Of course, Eun-cha would be suffering in this same way also from missing her twin, Mi-cha.


	2. Chapter 1 Kim Haewon

**Chapter 1  
>Kim Hae-won<strong>

Kim Hae-won crept through the hallway on her tiptoes, doing her very best not to wake up everyone in the house. Her feet were bare, for she did not want to risk even the soft noise that slippers would create, and even though she was still completely pajama-clad, she wore her glasses so that she would not to bump into anything. One light was on at the very end of the hall was where Hae-won had her sights set on.

She pushed the cracked door open and peeked inside. "Grandmother?"

Hae-won's grandmother looked over her shoulder and smiled at the sight of her granddaughter. "Hae-won, what are you doing up? It's well past midnight!"

"There's no school tomorrow," Hae-won explained as she made her way into her grandmother's room. "And I can't sleep."

Even when everyone else in the house would be long since asleep, Hae-won knew her grandmother would be awake. She had always said she did her best work at night, and even now, she was seated at her studio desk and Hae-won could see her watercolors out and a preliminary sketch taped to the tabletop.

Hae-won's grandmother was a children's author and had written more than thirty books. Hae-won could find them in the school library and all of her classmates could remember having her books read to them growing up. And her granddaughter _still_ read them, even though, at the age of nearly eleven, she was probably getting too old to be interested in picture books. But still, Hae-won refused to give them up. She knew them all by heart. She had read them so many times, and they were so familiar that sometimes the fairytales about palaces, magic, and talking animals felt more real and more like home than reality did.

"Is that for the new book?" Hae-won pointed to the sketch-scratched piece of paper. "Can I see?"

"Of course," her grandmother told her. "Maybe you can help me; offer a little input. I can't help but feel something's missing."

At the invitation, Hae-won rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her grandmother's neck, resting her chin on her shoulder as she looked down at the picture so far, pushing her glasses into place.

People often said the reason Hae-won and her grandmother were so close was because they were so much alike. Just like her grandmother who made her living writing fairytales, Hae-won was a thoughtful little girl who liked to spend her time daydreaming. Even though she wasn't yet interested in boys or make-up, she had also never been very interested in dolls or jumping rope. She had just never seen the point of any of those activities. For a while, it had worried her parents—when Hae-won's birthday parties never drew more than four children and when she didn't see what was so fun about a computerized kitten who lived in a keychain—but Hae-won's grandmother said she was just an old soul, that she had already figured out what was important in life.

Further evidence of this was the way Hae-won would often spend more time with her grandmother than she would with children her own age, but her grandmother didn't complain. The best way to write a story that appealed to the wonder and imagination of a child was to actually have a child help in the process.

"What's this one going to be about?" Hae-won's eyes darted over the drawing. "I see the roof of the palace behind the mountain peaks. Is this going to be a story about the Stolen Princess?"

_The Stolen Princess_ was Hae-won's favorite of all the stories her grandmother had written. It was the story of a princess who lived inside a palace surrounded by very high walls, but the princess longed to see the outside world which she was never allowed to venture into. On day, a traveling merchant came to the palace, and the princess gave him some of her jewelry to take her with him when he left the palace. He was only supposed to take her to the market and bring her back in the evening. But instead, the merchant took her to a town miles and miles away and left her in the surrounding woods while she was sleeping.

When the princess woke up, she was completely overwhelmed. She had never seen a forest before and didn't know what to make of it. She had never seen wild animals before, and she had never known days without food or nights without a bed. In spite of her very sheltered life, the princess had to call upon all her inner strength in order to survive and find her way back to the palace, learning she was stronger than she ever thought she could be.

The only problem with the story was that the ending made it feel like the story wasn't really finished. Even though the princess _did_ find that she was a strong person, she never did find her way back to the palace. The book ended with the princess still wandering in the wilderness with no idea of how to find her palace and her subjects were nowhere close to finding her.

"No, Hae-won," her grandmother told her. "That story doesn't have an ending yet."

Hae-won sighed to herself. Deep down, she had a feeling her favorite story would never have an ending.

The princess from the story was based on her grandmother's twin sister. Hae-won's grandmother had never told her this directly, but her mother told her that her grandmother did have a twin sister and in the dedication, her grandmother had written _To my dearest friend, Eun-cha, who I lost across the parallel_.

The story was too painful to talk about for her grandmother, but Hae-won had pieced the story together from bits and pieces told by her mother and her uncles. The twins had been sixteen years old when World War II ended and when Korea was split. Somehow, Eun-cha had ended up on the North end of the thirty-eighth parallel. No one was willing to risk going across the border to search for her for fear of not being able to leave, and after the North invaded, there was absolutely no chance of being able to find her.

Hae-won had only seen one picture of her great-aunt, Eun-cha. It had been taken when Hae-won's grandmother was fifteen-years-old, of the two of them in their Japanese-style school uniforms, as traditional Korean clothing was still outlawed at the time. Hae-won's grandmother was the calm twin, serene with a smile on her face like the one on the Mona Lisa. Her sister, Eun-cha, was the livelier-looking twin, even in the still picture. Her teeth were just barely showing in her smile, even though it wasn't considered proper at the time. She looked like the picture had been taken right on the verge of her bursting into laughter, probably from some joke she had just played on her twin.

Hae-won had often wondered to herself if they were still as identical as they had been back then. Whether there was some woman walking through North Korea with her grandmother's face.

"Alright!" Hae-won's grandmother finally shooed her off her shoulder. "If you have nothing more to offer than pestering me about finishing your favorite story, then you can go back to bed."

"There's no school til Monday!"

But her grandmother wasn't swayed. "Bed!"

* * *

><p>"<em>Eonni<em>, wait!" Hae-won's bulky book bag weighed her down as she struggled to keep up with her older sister, the fifteen-year-old in her brown school uniform sprinting ahead as though her very life depended on it.

Hae-won and her sister, Eun-kyung, used to be very close, but Hae-won barely saw her sister anymore. Eun-kyung had just started high school that year, and it wasn't unusual for her to be at school until well past ten. The only time they would see each other these days was in the morning at breakfast and during the race to school where Hae-won struggled to keep up.

This morning, Hae-won lucked out, however. Eun-kyung lost her shoe turning a corner and the time it took the high schooler to scramble for it was just long enough for Hae-won to catch up.

Neither of the girls was anywhere near late for school, but every morning Eun-kyung was determined to be the first one through the doors so she could have the biggest head start on the day. Eun-kyung was a very ambitious student; she wanted to go to Seoul National University, the best college in Korea. But sadly, her obsession with school was not at all unusual. Nearly all high school students practically lived at school. At least the ones who wanted to go to university did. Earning a spot at any school was very competitive and students went to all sorts of lengths to give themselves an edge.

"Hae-won, I can't get my shoe back on!" Eun-kyung struggled to put her shoe back on with one hand while standing. "Stand over here so I can balance on your shoulder."

Obediently, the eleven-year-old rushed to her sister's side, feeling slightly indignant at being used as a glorified human shoehorn.

Hae-won tried to start a conversation. "Grandmother's starting work on a new book."

"Hmmm," her sister remarked, not really paying attention.

"I thought it was going to be about the Stolen Princess, but she said no."

Eun-kyung finally began making some progress with her shoe. "Well, Grandmother said that story will probably never have a real ending."

"Because the story it was based on doesn't have an ending yet either." Of course, Hae-won knew this already, and it was part of what made the ending of her favorite story so sad. The fact that it might never have a real ending, and the pain the people in the story felt didn't stop once the pages had been shut. The pain that their grandmother felt about losing her twin sister was what had breathed life into _The Stolen Princess_ in the first place, and it didn't have a happy ending because Hae-won's grandmother had yet to have her own happy ending.

"_Eonni_," Hae-won asked suddenly, "you remember how we saw on the news once, that gathering where families from North and South Korea would be able to see one another again?"

"I remember." Eun-kyung finally forced her shoe back on, but didn't take off running.

Hae-won decided to take advantage of the situation. "Do you think Grandmother would somehow be able to go to one of those gatherings so she could see her sister again?"

Eun-kyung sighed in the manner of someone who was about to answer a question they really didn't _want_ to answer, but she didn't run away. "Hae-won, what you need to understand is that there was a reason that the gathering we saw made the national news. Those sorts of gatherings are extremely rare, once-in-a-decade sorts of things. You need the complete cooperation between the North and South, which almost never happens, and then there's all the work of actually finding all the relatives in two different countries, each with millions of people.

Her sister continued to speak. "And the honest truth, Hae-won, is that we don't even know if Grandmother's sister is still alive. Remember, there was a war and that terrible famine a few years ago where so many people died. Think about it; there's starvation, no modern medicine, and complaining about anything is a political crime." Eun-kyung looked down at the ground, fidgeting as though her shoes suddenly became very uncomfortable. "And to think our great-aunt somehow survived all that, even in her old age…well, you can see how unlikely it would be for her to still be alive."

Hae-won nodded thoughtfully. Even if she and Eun-kyung weren't as close as they used to be, she could still count on her sister to always tell her the truth. On uncomfortable topics, adults would either sugarcoat the truth or flat-out lie, but Eun-kyung saw no value in being dishonest about anything. No matter what the topic, she never treated Hae-won with kid gloves.

It was both a blessing and a curse.

In spite of this, Hae-won was still young enough to keep a shred of optimism in even the darkest scenarios. "But there's still a chance our aunt and her family are alive, isn't there?"

Eun-kyung nodded, even after all the grim words she had given her sister. "Of course, there's still a chance. Something can't be 'unlikely' if there's chance of it happening the other way."

Hae-won smiled to herself. The one thing about Eun-kyung always being so honest with her was that whenever her sister gave her good news, Hae-won knew it was something she could count on.

It was at that point, Eun-kyung looked down at her watch and shrieked in horror. "_Ah!_ Do you know how long we've been standing here?"

It hadn't really been _that_ long, but all the same, Eun-kyung took off running again, even faster than she had before. Hae-won wondered why her sister wasn't on the track team. Hae-won began taking a few steps after her sister, but Eun-kyung somehow knew she was being followed.

"Other way, Hae-won!" Hae-won's sister didn't even look over her shoulder. "Now!"

Pouting, Hae-won kicked at the loose stones on the street as her sister disappeared down the street before beginning her own, much slower pace towards the elementary school.

* * *

><p>In the classroom, Hae-won was the only one who was actually sitting at her desk—everyone else was running up and down the aisles and shouting at their friends—but with Hae-won's mother in the room, she felt rather nervous about giving into peer pressure. Normally, they would be having social studies right now, but today, instead, they would be listening to Hae-won's mother give a presentation on life in North Korea. She even gave her daughter a smile and a wave as she prepared her materials for her speech.<p>

Hae-won's mother worked for an advocacy group called Floating Bridges, which helped defectors from North Korea resettle and find new lives in the South. They came fleeing hunger, famine, political and religious persecution, and oppression from the dictatorship which ran the country. Hae-won had been hearing about all this since she was little, but her mother had promised she would try and make the presentation interesting if Hae-won promised to let her classmates have a chance at answering some of the questions.

"Everyone to your seats!" their teacher, Mrs. Park, shouted over the collective noise. "Quickly! Quickly!"

"Hello, everyone." Hae-won's mother bowed to the classroom. "My name is Pae Soo-min; some of you may already know me as Kim Hae-won's mother."

She made sure to point out Hae-won to anyone who didn't. "I work for an advocacy group called Floating Bridges, and your teacher, Mrs. Park, was kind enough to allow me to come and speak to you today about something I believe is very important." Hae-won's mother took a deep breath before beginning again. "What can you tell me about North Korea?"

As promised, Hae-won stayed quiet and still as her classmates' hands shot up and they took their turns telling what they knew.

"It's a communist country."

"We fought a war against them in 1950."

"It was founded by Kim Il-sung, and he's still the 'Eternal President'."

"My brother's stationed at the DMZ and he says we're still technically at war."

"Those are all correct answers," Hae-won's mother told the students. "You all seem to know so much about North Korea already. I hope I can still teach you all something."

She then began moving onto the actual presentation. "Floating Bridges' main purpose is to help refugees escaping from North Korea resettle in the house. That's because relocating from the North to the South is not as simple as just moving from Seoul to here in Jeonju. They have to adjust to a whole new way of life, from new political freedoms to learning how to use a lot of the modern technologies you already use every day."

At lot of the students seemed confused at this, so Hae-won's mother elaborated. "In North Korea, there's no internet, cellphones are banned, very few families have television sets, and the government controls all media and the press. No outside information is allowed. It's actually estimated that, technologically speaking, North Korea is at least thirty years behind the South."

"They can't even go to the supermarket to buy groceries. Everyone receives food rations from the government, and it usually isn't very much. Families in North Korea are entitled to one chicken and five eggs per person per month."

Hae-won glanced around at the looks of horror on her classmates' faces, especially the ones who must have been used to having eggs for breakfast every single morning.

"A lot of it has to do with outdated farming techniques." Hae-won's mother placed some photos on the overhead projector that showed people on a cooperative farm, plowing and planting fields by hand and using oxen to pull wagons and heavy loads. "As you can see, there are no tractors and few machines of any kind. The North Korean government can't produce or manufacture something themselves, they just do without it. It's part of the North Korean self-reliance principle of _Juche_. The same goes for food. This helped contribute, along with a lot of poor government decisions, to the terrible famine North Korea suffered in the late nineties."

It was at this point that Hae-won's mother began playing a video that brought an audible gasp from the entire classroom. Even Hae-won was disgusted. It was footage taken by a German doctor during a humanitarian trip to the North. It was all images of Korean children who looked just like the children shown on sponsorship commercials to feed starving children in Africa and other third world countries. But really, they were just children living in the countryside, right on state farms, but it was evident that the children weren't getting any food.

Hae-won could actually count the ribs and see the breastbone on a baby being held in its mother's arms. A ten-year-old—the same age as Hae-won and her classmates—lay on a cot, her eyes glazed over and gasping for breath. The doctor also talked about working where there were no antibiotics or anesthesia, even hospitals where there wasn't any soap.

At that, Pang Cho-hee raised her hand with a perplexed look on her face. "But why don't the other countries send food to the North?"

"There are actually many countries that do," Hae-won's mother told her, "but the government sends most aid workers away, or even confiscates the food. They believe accepting such help shows that the country can't function by itself, and if they don't accept the food, that means there's not a problem.

"Of course, that is not at all true, and starvation is a major problem in the North. The average eleven-year-old is about eight inches shorter and twenty-two pounds lighter than any of you."

"How is there even anyone still living in North Korea if this is what's happening?" one boy, Kim Tae-yul, asked. "Why don't they all just leave?"

Hae-won already knew the answer to that question, but she let her mother tell him. "The North Korean government spends a lot of money and effort to make sure no one does leave. Common citizens aren't allowed on airplanes or commercial ships, and the borders to South Korea and China are heavily patrolled by North Korean soldiers whose orders are shoot-to-kill. The borders are also blocked by miles of electric fences and thousands of landmines. Trying to cross from either side is certain suicide."

But there was more. "And for those who somehow do manage to make their way across, it's their families back in North Korea who end up paying the price. The government sets up concentration camps like the ones that existed in World War II. If any citizens defects from North Korea, their entire extended family—parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins—will be sent to one of these camps for life, where they are either worked to death or die of starvation or disease. Of course, people and their families can also be sent to these camps for speaking against the Korean Workers Party, for practicing Christianity, or even complaining about the month's rations.

"North Korean citizens _know_ these places exist; the government doesn't keep them a secret. The government also makes sure it's citizens know that as long as they follow the Party and love the Dear Leader with all their hearts, they have nothing to worry about. And most people are more than happy to do so."

Hae-won's mother moved to show the class yet another video. This time it was shot at a school in the capital city, Pyongyang. Ten and eleven-year-olds marched in step as they chanted pledges of loyalty to the Dear Leader and the dead Eternal President, Kim Il-sung. In a classroom, those same students were later listening intently to a teacher giving a very warped civics lesson in which the South were the ones who first invaded during the Korean War and where Americans were responsible for everything from splitting up the country to the continuing food shortages that still plagued the communist nation.

Afterwards, individual students were interviewed, talking about how proud they were to live in the last true socialist country in the world and how their Dear Leader would help them overtake the American imperialists. The last girl who spoke about how she hoped one day Korea would be united once again under the rule of their beloved Eternal President.

One look around Hae-won's classroom showed exactly what the _South_ Korean students thought of that!

Her mother's presentation ended mere seconds before the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Mrs. Park taking hold of her class once again. "If you have any further questions, Mrs. Pae will be staying after class and I'm sure that she will be more than happy to talk to you."

A few students looked as though there were debating staying to ask questions, but they soon got caught up in the rush and excitement of being able to go home. And so Hae-won decided to be the one to let her mother feel like she had reached the youth of Korea. "_Eomma!_"

Hae-won's mother took a break from gathering up her materials when she saw her daughter. "Hae-won! I hope you weren't too bored having to listen to so many things you've already heard at home."

"No, it was a great presentation!" she told her mother. "Everyone liked it."

Well, actually they had all been disgusted by her mother's presentation, but they certainly weren't going to forget it.

"I'm glad _you_ thought it was entertaining," her mother said. "If you could think this is all interesting after hearing it a thousand times, I'm not worried about your classmates."

Hae-won's mother always seemed worried about giving presentations, but she had given hundreds just like these before, and nothing had ever gone wrong. They were usually either given to schools for the purpose of education or at benefits for the purpose of begging rich people for money. But this was the first time her mother had spoken before one of Hae-won's classes. While Hae-won had been hearing all about human rights violations in the North since kindergarten, her mother had always worried her classmates might have.

"Do you want a ride home?" her mother suddenly asked. "I can give you one if you can if you can get your things all together."

Hae-won shook her head. "No, that's alright," she said. "I want to walk with Ho-sook and Cho-hee."

Pointing to the doorway, she showed that her two best friends were already waiting for her at the doorway. Hae-won's mother nodded her head once she saw them too. "Well, I have to just run home quick, but then I have to be back at the office. I probably won't be home when you get there, but you'll see me at supper."

"Alright!" Hae-won bowed to her mother as she ran backwards towards the door. "Bye, _Eomma_!"

As soon as they got into the hall, Hae-won and her two friends were swept up in the crowd of elementary school students all anxious to flee the constraints of the classroom. At some point, they got separated in the chaos, but this was also something typical. It had happened enough times that Hae-won and her friends knew to just make their way to the front gate; that they would meet up there.

It was less than five minutes before the girls all met up again, and began walking home. It was a beautiful day. The heat from the summer was still clinging to the mid-September air. Ho-sook kicked off her shoes and peeled off her socks.

"It's not going to be warm like this for much longer." She pushed her hair behind her ear, which she bragged was dyed. "I don't want to go back to wearing long sleeves again."

Hae-won knew her friend was prone to wearing clothes that were much too…mature for her age. Granted, she didn't go terribly over the top with outfits she wore to school, but even her shorts usually showed a little too much over her legs and her blouses too much of her arms. "Cold weather isn't going to stop you from wearing your favorite clothes and you know it."

Yi Ho-sook was the sort of girl who couldn't grow up fast enough. Anytime she wasn't in school, she could often be seen wearing her sloppy attempts at make-up. Sometimes she would even wear make-up to school, which would always end in a rough face scrub by the school nurse and a lecture from the school principle.

Pang Cho-hee, on the other hand, seemed to be terrified of absolutely everything that Ho-sook so worshiped. Cho-hee was a religious girl, very active in the church that Hae-won's family also attended, though Hae-won wasn't nearly as observant as her friend.

"You're going to get in trouble." Cho-hee shook her head, her long ponytail whipping back and forth. "And even when we're not in school, you shouldn't be dressing like that anyway!"

Ho-sook's expression began to twitch, and Hae-won sensed a fight about to happen. It had certainly happened enough times for her to be able to spot the signs.

If Ho-sook and Cho-hee had just met at school, they probably wouldn't even speak to each other, but the reason the three girls had all become friends was because their fathers all worked at Chunbok National University. Ho-sook's father was an economics professor, while Cho-hee's father worked in the admissions office. Hae-won's own father was an administrator, and even at the age of ten, Hae-won _still_ wasn't sure what that meant.

Quite possibly, the only reason the two girls were friends was because Hae-won acted as a sort of middle ground; a happy medium between the two polar opposite personalities. All it took was a look from Hae-won in each direction in order to defuse the fight. They respected Hae-won enough for that.

Ho-sook spoke up. "My parents are planning one of their salon nights for Saturday." This wasn't the sort of salon where people got their haircut, but a rather old way of referring to a gathering of friends who met for lively and very academic discussion. "You both have to come too! I don't know if I'll be able to take being locked in the house all night with a bunch of adults talking about things I don't understand."

But Hae-won wasn't paying attention. There was something tucked behind a dumpster that was catching her eye. Something brilliant red, shining unnaturally in the sunlight…

"Ho-sook, Cho-hee, would you two mind going the rest of the way on your own?"

Cho-hee appeared confused at this, especially at the foggy look in Hae-won's eyes. "Are you sure? You don't look like you're feeling…quite right."

"Yeah…I'm fine…," she said as her voice trailed off. "You both can go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow."

The two girls shrugged their shoulders, but continued on, leaving Hae-won alone in the alleyway. It was only once she was sure that she was alone that Hae-won raced for the glinting light she had never broken eye contact from. When she got closer, she saw that whatever it was had been wedged beneath a garbage can, as though it had already been lying their when the family had taken the trash out. The can was incredibly heavy, and Hae-won struggled to pry it free.

The force of the effort was so great that when Hae-won finally did succeed, she was thrown back onto her backside by Newton's Second Law. Hae-won spent a few minutes nursing her sore backside before her attention finally returned to what she had fought so hard for. It was a scale, like you would see on a snake, but it was about as wide as Hae-won's outstretched palm.

It was a dragon scale!

Hae-won knew this because she had seen a real dragon before. She had been seven years old at time and was at the park with her family. Hae-won had wandered away to watch some boys sail toy boats in the pond. Eventually, finding shapes in the clouds became more interesting than the boats, and she started listing off a car, a butterfly, a soup bowl, a feather…

But when Hae-won noticed a long dragon shape, she also noticed it was brilliant red and gold, like the dragons in old Chinese and Korean paintings, and it was moving faster than all the other clouds, weaving up and over them, and much more defined in shape.

It was when Hae-won actually saw the shape breath a ball of fire that she actually knew what she was seeing was real. "A DRAGON!" she had shouted to everyone around her. "EVERYONE LOOK UP! IT'S A REAL DRAGON!"

But by the time Hae-won had looked up again, the dragon had completely disappeared. Everyone in the park assumed she was just a little kid making up stories, but even after her family had gone home, Hae-won kept insisting the truth of her story.

"_Eomma_, _Appa_, there really was a dragon! It had a mustache and a long body like a snake and little bitty wings!"

But her parents just alternated between ignoring and indulging her: hanging her drawings of the creature on the refrigerator, taking her on 'dragon hunts' which were really just walks in the park, and pretending to listen to her stories while actually reading the paper. Eun-kyung was less accommodating, laughing in Hae-won's face or telling her to get lost whenever she tried to talk about the dragon in front of Eun-kyung's friends.

Then, two weeks later, when Hae-won was playing out in the rain, she was jumping in the puddles when she noticed something catching much more like than a wet stone could. When she went closer, she saw whatever it was was a very pure shade of gold, which led her to at first believe it was some kind of jewelry. But when she pulled it out of the water and rinsed the mud off, it wasn't like any sort of jewelry Hae-won had ever seen before. It was incredibly large and almost a perfect oval, except for a curve cutting through the bottom half, almost like the shadow over the moon.

It was then that Hae-won remembered the field trip her class had taken to the zoo the week before and had been chosen hold the boa constrictor during the reptile show. The snake had had scales in the exact same shape.

This was a scale from the dragon she had seen at the park! She was absolutely certain of it, and now she had proof she was telling the truth!

But instead of going straight to her parents, Hae-won first went to her grandmother. It seemed like the logical choice. Hae-won's grandmother actually wrote about dragons, so she would know more about them than any of the other adults in Hae-won's life.

"I told you I was telling the truth!" Hae-won had said as her grandmother examined the scale. "There's not a snake in the world that's that color and definitely not one that's that big!"

"You're probably correct, Hae-won," her grandmother had agreed. "If there is such a snake, it's one I've never come across."

"So it has to belong to a dragon then! There's no other explaination!"

"I'm not sure if that's completely correct either, Hae-won. I'm sure we haven't gone through _every_ other explanation that is out there."

Hae-won had been confused by this. "So you _don't_ think it belongs to the dragon I saw?"

"I didn't say that either."

By then, Hae-won had been starting to get tired of all these cryptic answers. "Then what _do_ you think?"

Then Hae-won's grandmother had given the scale back to her granddaughter. "What I would do is hold onto this; keep it somewhere safe. Even if we don't know what it is now, it could prove to be very important one day."

Even though Hae-won still hadn't been sure why her grandmother wasn't answering her questions directly, she did heed her advice, hiding the dragon scale in a locked treasure box she had hidden under her bed.

Over the years, though, her single dragon scale turned into a collection. Hae-won had once found three scales inside of a week, and then didn't find another one for two more years. All the same, Hae-won was seeing too many of them to dissuade her from the belief that dragons were real, and now she had found another.

Hae-won emptied her pencil case into her backpack so she could keep the scale safely in the box until she could get home and lock it in her treasure box. She wasn't sure how many scales she had now, but she _was_ running out of room in the box under her bed. She would either have to get a new box or empty out her toy chest to hide them in.

It was at that point that Hae-won started _running_ home. She hoped to get home before her parents did. Hae-won was terrible at being sneaky, and if her parents were to see her try and creep off to her room as soon as she walked through the door, they would know she was up to something.

The houses on Hae-won's street were modern and fairly large with backyards hidden by tall fences. The houses were all built in different styles, but they were all painted in the same white,off-white color spectrum, which made picking one out rather like trying to find one special stone on a beach full of rocks. Hae-won knew her house; it was the third one from the corner, with one of the top windows filled with gel cutout shapes in Hae-won's bedroom window on the second floor, a bright blue door with a brass knocker, and chalk drawings on the driveway that her father was always very lax about washing off.

Hae-won opened the fence gate so she could take the door that led through the kitchen. If her parents _were_ home, she could at least bypass their office by taking that route.

"_Appa!_" Hae-won called out to her father before trying for her mother. "_Eomma!_ Are you home yet?"

When she heard no answer, Hae-won assumed she was safe and bolted towards the staircase. But she was stopped dead in her tracks when she saw she was certainly not alone. Her entire family was sitting in the living room, as though they had been waiting for her. Even Eun-kyung was there…changed out of her uniform no less.

"What's going on? Is somebody dead?" That was usually what happened when a whole family stopped what they were doing to come home, sharing the same shocked, confused expression.

Hae-won's first thoughts went to her grandmother, but breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her sitting off to the side in her favorite armchair. Her parents were seated side by side on the couch with Eun-kyung perched on the armrest. There was one piece of furniture left—the loveseat—was taken up by…a woman Hae-won had never seen before; and she seemed like a woman she would definitely remember seeing before.

"Ah!" she remarked once Hae-won noticed her. "I see Young Miss Kim has finally joined us."

She was a very pretty woman, just a bit younger than Hae-won's mother, but it was a very regal and refined sort of beauty, like the sort belonging on someone of royal birth who would never mix with mere commoners. In spite of this, there was nothing higher-than-thou about her; she sat comfortably on her family's furniture, drinking tea from a rather plain cup. If she were a character in one of her grandmother's books, she would be the queen who would insist that her driver stop the carriage so she could hand out coins to beggar children on the street.

"_Appa, Eomma?_" Hae-won's voice was low and grave. "Who is this?"

Hae-won knew she had just been incredibly rude to their guest, but her parents didn't scold her. In fact, they even seemed afraid to speak up at all.

Her father was the first to break the silence. "Hae-won, this is Professor…"

"Professor Moon," the woman reminded them. "Moon Hyun-jung"

"Professor? Are you a teacher?" Hae-won thought to ask. "Do you work at the university with _Appa_?"

Because Hae-won's father worked at the university, and many of his friends that came to their home were professors and other university employees. If that were true, then the unusual costume—traditional silk _hanbok_ and heavy braided hair knotted at the top of her head, help together by colorful pins—might be somewhat explainable, especially if she were a teacher of Korean history.

"No, actually," Professor Moon admitted. "I'm actually a teacher at the Angaeui Gyeonglo Magic Conservatory."

"Hae-won," her grandmother suddenly spoke up with an authoritative tone that Hae-won had never heard from her before, "come sit down."

She was all seriousness, in a sort of way that was not to be argued with. Eventually, Hae-won moved toward the couch, taking a seat between her sister and her mother.

"Miss Kim, as I have already said, my name is Professor Moon," the woman spoke up again, as though even she were taken aback by the tone of Hae-won's grandmother, despite the fact that she didn't even know her. "And I'm here today because I have something very important to speak with you about."

The professor reached into a satchel at her side and extracted…a scroll. A silk scroll like the kind that people wrote on in old historical movies.

"This is for you," she said, standing to her feet and placing the scroll in Hae-won's hand. "Might I suggest you read it with your parents?"

Hae-won looked around at her family. It seemed like her parents already had some idea of what the letter was going to be about, though her grandmother seemed to be surer of the situation while her parents and sister were bewildered. But it was clear that no one was just going to tell her what was happening, so she pulled at the silk cord and broke the wax seal, letting the scroll unfurl.

**Chapter End Notes:**

There are some Korean phrases in this story that you may wish to have the translations to.

**_Ennoi:_** a title younger siblings call their older sisters, 'Big Sister' (There are actually four different titles depending on whether it is a little sister or little brother refering to their older brother or older sister. But _Eonni_ is the title little sisters use towards their older sisters).  
><strong><em>Eomma:<em>** mom  
><strong><em>Appa:<em>** dad

**_hanbok:_** refering to traditional Korean clothing which can be for males or females.


	3. Chapter 2 Ryang Youngjae

**Chapter 2  
>Ryang Young-Jae<strong>

A healthy-looking child with dimples looked back at Ryang Young-jae from the wall-length mirror in front of her. She was flanked by more than a dozen other girls in matching red and gold dresses, fluttering like a flock of butterflies.

Just outside the door to the dance studio, a twelve-year-old in her school uniform was serving as tour guide to a group of foreign tourists. Russians, Young-jae thought she heard. They were being led on a tour through all the different classrooms, to see all the different children. That's what the Children's Palace was for. It was a gift from the Great Leader, Kim Il-sung—a beautiful marble building with fountains and statues—so that all the children of Pyongyang could study anything they wished: dance, music, acting, embroidery. Everything imaginable could be studied at the Mangyongdae Children's Palace, and it was all free.

The Russian tourists were supposed to be watching just an ordinary 'practice', but this was anything but. Whenever there was even a hint of foreigners coming to the Mangyongdae Children's Palace, everyone knew about it. And only the best of the best were allowed to perform exhibitions in front of them. Nothing less would do. If anyone _did_ happen to make a mistake in front of a foreigner…well, Young-jae didn't know what would happen. She knew her class wouldn't be allowed to perform for a long time, but after that…again.

But it had never happened to her, so Young-jae didn't have to think about it.

Besides, the girls in class today were the best of their age group, so there was nothing to worry about. And Young-jae was proud to know that in her class of the best dance students, she was the best out of all of them.

As the music picked up, and their teacher clapped faster along with it, the other girls scurried away from Young-jae on all sides. It was time for her solo.

_Spin, jump, pirouette, arabesque, keep legs straight, arms graceful, don't forget to smile._ In the brief instances when Young-jae could watch the tourists at the door, she saw that they were all watching at rapt attention and amazement. Young-jae smiled proudly. Russia was supposed to be famous for training great ballerinas. If her dancing impressed _them_, it was all the more proof of Young-jae's skills, and by extension, the Democratic People's Republic of Korea's ability to train the world's best dancers.

Young-jae kept her eyes focused on the same spot in the mirror as she began a pirouette, losing track of how many times she had spun around. The rest of her classmates began to move again, circling around her, though Young-jae wasn't particularly focused on the movements of everyone else. That was never a good idea, and usually only succeeded in bringing one to falling to the floor in a dizzy fit.

All the girls came to a stop, and the applause from the doorway echoed loudly. They all turned, smiling, towards the tourists, some girls waving, others giving dramatic bows. Once the clapping began to die down, the young tour guide began moving the Russians along their way so they could be shown even more of the Palace's most talented children, the best and brightest the Democratic People's Republic had to offer.

Once they were gone, though, the class returned to its normal order of things, with the girls being goofy, noisy, and generally child-like, which they certainly couldn't be in front of foreigners. They had to look completely dedicated to their craft.

"Alright, girls!" The teacher called them all to the front. "You did wonderfully today! We'll have class next week at the same time on Monday and Wednesday. Make sure you all keep practicing on your own, and I look forward to seeing you all again."

Young-jae and the other girls all bowed in unison before running off to change back into their school clothes. Excited chatter echoed through the hallways all the way to the girls' locker room. Everyone was pleased with the performance. Every success seen by the outside world was a victory, no matter how small. This was why Young-jae felt so elated, possibly even more so than any other girl in the room.

She was so caught up in the euphoric feeling that her best friend had to shake her by both shoulders to get her attention.

"You were amazing, Young-jae!" she gushed praises. "Did you hear how loud they were clapping for you?"

Young-jae gave a big, toothy smile. No matter how many times a person was given praise, there was never a time when she got tired of hearing it. "They were clapping for all of us," she tried to be gracious, "and you did wonderfully too."

The girl gave a soft smile, never really one for exuberant emotions.

Won Soon-bok had been Young-jae's best friend ever since she could remember. They had met on their first day of kindergarten and became friends before finding out they actually lived in the same apartment building, Young-jae on the sixth floor and Soon-bok on the eighth. Ever since then, the two girls spent every spare minute they had together. Soon-bok even started classes at the Mangyongdae Children's Palace because Young-jae started taking them first.

"Yes, but I don't get picked for solos and people don't clap for just me the way they clap for you." There was a sad sort of resigned tone in her voice. "Gi-yun keeps telling me I should join the Mass Games Club at school, and now I'm starting to think I should."

At hearing this, Young-jae felt her stomach begin to tie in knots. Even if Soon-bok wasn't the best dancer in their class, there was no reason to give up on her training in favor of taking classes with her sister.

The Mass Games were held whenever there was a national holiday. Thousands of performers would dance, play music, and perform gymnastics in an amazing choreographed display. It was meant to show the collective power and beauty of the nation as a whole, and the Democratic People's Republic of Korea was the only country in the world that performed them.

But Young-jae knew how many hours one had to devote to the sport in order to be part of the games. Gi-yun's practices began as soon as school let out and she would not get home until well past nine. As the games got closer, they would train up to eight hours a day and would sometimes even miss school for it (something that was not as great as it sounded).

"The Mass Games are a very noble sport," Young-jae told her. "They glorify Korea and the Dear Leader and the Eternal President."

And even if it wasn't so nice to say so, Mass Games were probably a better fit than performance where people where actually watching _her_. Soon-bok was never very good when it came to performing on her own, and she would probably feel much more comfortable performing in a crowd of thousands, but that didn't mean Young-jae was looking forward to not having her best friend in class with her anymore. They had been in their primary school classes and Mangyongdae classes together since they were five.

But Young-jae knew she would never want to be part of the Mass Games herself. She loved too much the thrill of having all eyes on her and her alone, with all the applause just for her. This was a terrible political attitude, Young-jae knew, but she couldn't help it. Besides, it wasn't really bad or selfish as long as she kept it to herself.

Of course, Mass Games athletes were much more likely to have the honor of performing the son of Kim Il-sung, the General, the Dear Leader, who became the nation's leader after the Great Leader died. There could be no greater honor imaginable. Young-jae had performed on stage for hundreds of people and had even been on television, but she had never once been seen by the General. The General didn't even know she existed.

Young-jae shook her head to shake the bad thoughts out of her skull. Friends shouldn't think these things about one another. And they especially shouldn't be jealous of one another.

"Come on!" Young-jae reached over and grabbed her friend's hand. "Let's go home!"

At this, Soon-bok's mood seemed to lighten. She squeezed Young-jae's hand and took off running with her, even as the adults shouted at them to slow down. Outside, the sun was shining, and it was just warm enough not to need jackets. Young-jae alternated between walking backwards and doing one-footed jumps down the stone staircase. Soon-bok followed behind, biting her bottom lip and flinching as she waited for her friend to fall backwards and crack her skull on the pavement, which she never did.

Every day, after school and their Mangyongdae classes, Young-jae and Soon-bok would walk home together. It was a ritual they followed ever since they were six, and it was almost something that brought them closer together than the actual classes themselves.

The capital city of Pyongyang was so beautiful. There were tall skyscrapers, glittering glass hotels, and brightly painted slogans everywhere. And unlike the capitals of other countries, that were plagued by filth and pollution, Pyongyang had neither of these problems. There were no thieves or pickpockets because no one was any richer or poorer than anyone else. The streets were always clean and swept free of litter. There was never any real threat of danger of any kind because of the many soldiers who patrolled, keeping the citizens safe. Where else in the world could two ten-year-old girls walk across the city with no threat of danger?

Suddenly, Soon-bok pointed across the street. "Look, Young-jae! There's your mother!"

Young-jae's head snapped in the direction of her friend's hand. Sure enough, there her mother stood in her crisp blue traffic conductor's uniform, standing in the center of the same street she worked at every day. Young-jae wanted desperately to wave to her, but she knew shouldn't distract her mother when she performed such an important job. Without traffic conductors, the capital city would literally grind to a halt.

Besides, she would see her at supper tonight. Young-jae took her best friend by the hand and began leading her back home.

Young-jae and Soon-bok's apartment building sat on a block completely made up of other apartment buildings, all of them ten to fifteen stories high. Young-jae's father, who had grown up in the country, was still amazed at how many people could live on such a small piece of land. But Young-jae and her mother, who had both grown up in Pyongyang, would just laugh. They were true city girls.

The two schoolgirls both had strong legs, not just from dance, but from climbing all these stairs their whole lives. It had made them very strong and very healthy, to the point where they weren't even tired when they reached the end.

When they finally did reach the sixth floor where Young-jae live, Soon-bok said her good-bye and took off for her own apartment two stories up. Soon-bok was so lucky. Her mother was always home when she came home from school, usually with treats waiting for her, and her older sister, Gi-yun, to play with in the evening. When Young-jae got home, however, her apartment was always empty.

Well, not _empty_, but it might as well have been.

As soon as her key clicked in the lock, Young-jae took a deep breath and pushed herself inside. locked the deadbolt, and then turned around to see an elderly woman sitting on the living room sofa, a half-finished sewing project in her lap.

Young-jae gave a low and respectful bow. "Hello, Grandmother."

As soon as the exchange was done, Young-jae wanted desperately to run off to her room and shut herself inside. All her other friends' grandmothers were sweet and kindly. They made their grandchildren clothes, treats, and took them to the park. Young-jae's grandmother didn't do any of these things; she barely even left the house. When she wasn't cranky or snapping at Young-jae, she was listless and sad, spreading her sour mood to everyone else. She just generally wasn't a very pleasant person to be around.

But Young-jae father had told her time and again that she needed to spend more time with her grandmother.

_Just sit down, tell her about your day, then you can leave and tell Abeoji that you tried._

Young-jae made her way to the couch and took a seat as far away from her grandmother as physically possible. "How was your day?" she finally asked.

Her grandmother sighed and answered without even looking Young-jae in the eye, "It was very well."

But still, the elderly woman didn't take any initiative to start a conversation, though Young-jae kept trying. "What are you working on?"

"It's the blouse you tore last week," her grandmother replied. "And next I have to fix the hemline on your other uniform, so you don't keep wearing the same one over and over again."

Young-jae's eyes moved down to the floor, fingers clenching around the skirt of her current uniform. How did this turn into something about _her_ causing trouble?

"How was school, Young-jae?"

The sudden question caught Young-jae by surprise. Her grandmother actually asking what happened in Young-jae's day (unless it was to scold) was a very rare occurrence. "We learned about the Great Leader's resistance work in revolutionary history, and we painted birds in art class. I had my dance class at Mangyongdae, and I have my _gayageum_ lesson tomorrow."

Young-jae's grandmother gave the closest thing to a smile as was possible for her. "You like doing creative things like music and dance, don't you, Young-jae."

The ten-year-old nodded earnestly. "I'm lucky to live in a country that allows me to learn all of these things!" she exclaimed. "And hopefully someday I'll be able to use what I've learned to glorify our nation and the Dear Leader!"

But Young-jae's grandmother had always had a lackluster attitude towards patriotism, and it was showing again. The woman sighed with a lack of emotion. "I'm just glad you have the opportunity to study the things you love."

Not one word about the Dear Leader who allowed Young-jae to learn all these things or how she could use them to give back to her nation. Young-jae couldn't help but scowl. Did her grandmother have any sense of what was really important?

Finally, Young-jae gave up and moved towards her bedroom. "I need to study."

Before shutting the door, Young-jae saw her grandmother nod in approval. Throwing her book bag roughly against her desk, Young-jae paced, stomped, and vented her frustration until she finally felt collected enough to reach into her backpack and start on her homework.

The first workbook Young-jae pulled out of her bag was for English. She would save that until her father came home. Even if Young-jaw wasn't considered one of the 'best' students in her class, she was still wise enough to know that she should take advantage of the expansive knowledge of the English language that her father possessed.

Young-jae set her English workbook to the side, her eyes resting on the door. Her grandmother really should have been more grateful. It was because of her son, Young-jae's father, that she was able to live in the beautiful capital city of Pyongyang, after all.

Instead, Young-jae chose to start with math, getting the worst assignment over and done with.

Young-jae's father had been born the youngest of six on a cooperative farm where her aunts and uncles all still lived. Her father most likely would have been resigned to the life of a peasant as well, were it not for his teachers noticing his early aptitude for the English language. Eventually, the State sent him to a special language school where his skill could be refined, far away from the cooperative farm where he was born.

After that, he was sent to to Kim Il-sung University in Pyongyang. It was while living in the city that he met Young-jae's mother. After the two of them were married and the State allocated them housing in the capital, Young-jae's father appealed to the government to let his mother come live with them too. Her children were all grown and her husband had died several years ago in a work accident, so Young-jae's father was the best suited to take care of her. All of Young-jae's aunts and uncles had several young children and very cramped houses on the farm.

Math was done, now time for Korean.

It was only a few years after that when Young-jae was born, and that's how their family came to be. Young-jae would often ask her parents why they didn't have any more children, but they always said it was because they already had a perfect child. Young-jae knew it was a line, but it was still nice to hear it.

The Korean assignment was easy. Revolutionary history was next.

There were several reasons why her grandmother's political attitude worried her. It was supposed to be a privilege to live in Pyongyang, and the government granted housing to those with excellent political attitudes. Young-jae wasn't worried about her parents. They had both dedicated their whole lives and careers to helping the government, but there was nothing her grandmother said or did to suggest she was a loyal Korean.

Young-jae's father said she had to be understanding, that her grandmother had lived a very hard life between the Japanese occupation, the war with the South, and her life of working on the cooperative farm. Besides, surely the government wouldn't care about one little old woman, would they?

It was still a worry that haunted Young-jae's mind. Even if she wasn't particularly close with her grandmother, she still didn't want anything to happen to her.

Young-jae had just finished her last worksheet question when she heard the front door open and the sound of high-heeled shoes walking across the floor. Young-jae stuffed her homework into her bag before racing to the door, barreling out into the living room. "_Eomeoni_!"

Young-jae's mother nearly toppled over by the speed and force of her daughter's hug, catching her balance partially by stabling herself on her daughter's head. "I'm glad to see you too, Young-jae."

Young-jae had always thought her mother was beautiful. She had rather large, almond-shaped eyes, a round face with delicate features, and long black hair that grew thick and sleek. A lot of people said Young-jae looked just like her when she was young, and that had always made Young-jae feel incredibly proud. When Young-jae was younger, she had always thought her mother should have been an actress in movies, but her mother explained again and again that she had no artistic talent whatsoever, and that was something that was unique to Young-jae.

All the same, Young-jae admired her mother greatly, seeing her as a wonderful example of what it meant to be a good citizen of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.

"Have you been studying at all?" Young-jae's mother asked, beginning to unbutton her bright blue jacket.

Young-jae nodded vigorously. "I'm saving the English until _Abeoji_ comes home."

Her mother nodded in approval as she hung her jacket on a hanger. "Do you have any other homework?"

Young started to shuffle her feet. "Just science."

Science was a very minor subject, unless you were intent on working in a research institute in the future (which Young-jae certainly wasn't). Almost no one in the school took it seriously, not even a lot of the teachers.

But Young-jae's mother wasn't so convinced. "Your education is a gift from the father of our nation. No one subject is any less important than any other." She gave Young-jae a push towards her bedroom. "Go study. You'll have plenty of time to play before _Abeoji_ gets home." 

* * *

><p>"Young-jae, you should really eat more." Her mother spooned the last of the noodles onto her plate. "You're a growing girl, after all, and you burn so much energy with all the classes you take."<p>

Part of Young-jae felt guilty for taking the last of her family's food, even if it was just the noodles (which happened to be her favorite food). "It's all worth it to glorify the Dear Leader."

Young-jae's father, who was sitting next to her, pushed her plate closer. "Which you won't be able to do if you don't eat enough to give you all that energy. Finish your dinner."

Picking up her chopsticks, Young-jae giggled at the expression of fake sternness on her father's face. They both knew she didn't have to be ordered to eat her favorite food, but it was still fun to play this game anyway.

Young-jae's father always came home just before dinner. He worked as a manager for a hotel in central Pyongyang, but not just any hotel. This was a hotel specially designated for foreign visitors staying in the capital. All the employees, right down to the maids, had to be specially selected by the government for their skills and their loyalty to the Party. And Young-jae had secretly always been very proud that her father was among the Selected Ones.

But despite his serious job, whenever he came home, he was all smiles and jokes, making the mood in the apartment feel a hundred times lighter. Her father was the one to joke and play with, her mother was the one who encouraged her to try her best at everything she did, and her grandmother…was the one who did all the scolding and the snapping.

The family sat at the small square table set just outside the kitchen, but not quite in the living room. There was little conversation over the meal, as was the traditional Korean custom, aside from the occasional laugh or joke (or for Young-jae's grandmother to disapprove of her table manners). From the kitchen, Young-Jae could hear the state radio, the one piped into the wall, just like every home in Pyongyang had. There was turned down as low as it would go. There was no way to turn it off. What if there was suddenly an emergency or an invasion, after all? The people needed to be prepared for anything that might happen.

As the radio gave a broadcast about the youth being the future of Korea, a thought came to Young-jae's mind. "I wish we had a television," she said suddenly. "Gi-yun was given one by the Dear Leader for competing in the Mass Games."

The whole family stopped eating, caught off guard by the spontaneous remark. "Maybe if I work hard with my training and become good enough to perform abroad, the Dear Leader will give our family a television too."

"That certainly sounds like an excellent ambition," her father was the first to speak, though he seemed to be a bit uncomfortable for some reason. "But I'm sure it will also be very nice to be handpicked by the Dear Leader for your talent as well."

Young-jae nodded, unable to do anything else with her mouth full of her last bit of noodles. Of course she knew _that_. It was just the idea of having a television like Gi-yun's family that had prompted this thinking in the first place. It was entirely possible, if Young-jae was talented enough, that the General would give her family a television too. But being given a present by the Dear Leader himself would certainly mean she had been noticed by her nation's leader for her craft.

Suddenly, the lights surged and went out completely, leaving the apartment in total darkness.

Only one thing came to Young-jae's mind. "Damned Americans!"

"Young-jae!" her grandmother scolded sharply, causing Young-jae to fold her hands into her lap and cast her eyes downward.

She knew she shouldn't have used such language around her family, but really, there was no other word that could describe what was going on. It was because of the American imperialists that there were all these electrical shortages and air raid drills. The Democratic People's Republic of Korea was the last true socialist society on Earth, and the Americans were determined to destroy it, doing so by causing food shortages and blocking trade. But Koreans had to be strong and withstand hardships like this in order to preserve their way of life.

That didn't make nights like these any easier, though.

As Young-jae heard her parents moving to get the candles, though, the lights flashed on again, so bright that Young-jae had to cover her eyes with her sleeve.

"There, you see?" Her mother sat back down again. "It was only for a second."

But as Young-jae turned her attention back to the meal, she saw a terrible sight. The rice she had been passing when the lights went out was now spilt all over the tabletop.

"Oh, no!" she gasped in horror. "I'm sorry!"

It wasn't all that long ago, during the Arduous March, that food shortages were so terrible that there was nothing to eat but porridge made from corncobs. Ever since then, everyone had learned to appreciate even the smallest bit of food. So it was no wonder all the good, wasted rice was such a grievous sin in Young-jae's eyes.

"It's alright," Young-jae's father tried to assure her. When that didn't seem to work, he scraped the spilled rice onto his plate before taking a very large spoonful. "See? It's still good."

At her father's kind act, Young-jae began to feel immensely better. But she was further distracted from the spilt rice by a sharp knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Young-jae raced away from the table before anyone could beat her there.

Young-jae unlatched the lock (she was still too short to look through the peephole) and threw it open. It was Soon-bok and Gi-yun, the pair of them flanking a tall, wiry man with metal-frame glasses.

"Professor Won, hello." Young-jae greeted her friends' father with a bow.

Professor Won taught physics at Kim Il-sung University, meaning Soon-bok and Gi-yun came from the Intellectual Class. Young-jae's family came from the Workers Class, but this didn't matter. In the Democratic People's Republic of Korean, the workers, the peasants, and the intellectuals were all equals; a system that existed nowhere else in the world.

"Dak-ho," Young-jae heard her mother say behind her. "What are you doing here?"

Professor Won pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "The power went out, and once again, your apartment in the first to regain power."

At hearing this, Young-jae's stomach started to twist. She rushed to the kitchen to look out over the balcony. Sure enough, the entire city block still had no power. The windows of the building across the street were pitch black.

This happened every time there was a power outage. No matter how long the power was gone in the rest of the city, Young-jae's apartment would always be the first to regain its electricity. Sometimes the Ryangs wouldn't even lose their electricity at all.

"It's an old building," Young-jae's father would say. "The old wiring probably just keeps other apartments from getting electricity back as fast."

But that still didn't explain why the Ryangs' apartment was always the first to get their power back, after every single power outage. Other people were suspicious about this too, until the State even sent in their own electrical specialist, who could find nothing wrong. Once the State said there was nothing wrong, their neighbors all just accepted it, but Young-jae remained unconvinced.

It couldn't just be that simple, could it? Not after so many times.

"Anyway," the professor went on, "the girls both still have homework to do, and all we have are candles. It's not good for them to read in such poor light."

"Certainly," her mother agreed before Professor Won could flat out ask. "The girls can both come here to study."

"Oh! Can they sleepover?" Young-jae rushed back to the door. "Please?"

The girls all had school tomorrow, but then again, but there was no telling whether the power would be back by then, so Young-jae thought there would at least be a chance their parents would say yes.

Professor Won seemed reluctant at first, but eventually nodded. "Just make sure you have them out the door in time for school," he said over his squealing daughters. "And Sun-hee will bring some rice rations over in the morning, since you'll be feeding them."

"Oh, Dak-ho, you know you don't have to do that!"

But Professor Won shook his head, not willing to change her mind. "These are hard times, comrade. We all have to work together and support each other in times like these."

Professor Won then turned to his daughters. "Girls, go get your bedrolls and your book bags. You're coming here to study, and you aren't going to waste the Ryangs' electricity by not even opening books." 

* * *

><p>But of course, not a lot of studying got done. There was laughing and singing, and Gi-yun was always willing to teach the girls some new dance or gymnastics move she had learned in the Mass Games Club.<p>

She had just competed in the last Mass Games a few weeks ago—to celebrate the fifty-fifth anniversary of the founding of the Korean Workers Party—and already, her club was preparing for the next one. Young-jae's family had even gone to see the performance. It had all been beautiful, but of course, Gi-yun's performance was Young-jae's favorite. Gi-yun had even received the honor of being in the center of the first row, just a testament of how good she really was.

"You're so talented, _Eonni_!" Young-jae exclaimed, clapping as hard as she could. "You'll probably be chosen for rhythmic gymnastics for the 2008 Olympics!"

Even though they weren't related, Young-jae still called Gi-yun 'Big Sister'. She was so close to Soon-bok and spent so much time at her apartment that it almost like Gi-yun _was_ her big sister.

Gi-yun blushed and sat back down again. "I don't know about that. It's still such a long ways away. But it would be such a wonderful honor to be given the chance to glorify our nation."

Young-jae felt her heart grow warm with happiness at the thought of Gi-yun being one of those selected to compete at the international games. She had heard that Olympic athletes even got to attend a special banquet put on by the Dear Leader himself. Gi-yun wouldn't just be seen by the Dear Leader; she would _actually_ get to meet him! That alone would be even greater than winning a dozen gold metals.

"And Soon-bok told me she's going to be joining the Mass Games club right along with you."

Gi-yun nodded with a smile on her face. "If she works hard and applies herself, she might be performing in the Mass Games by next April."

"Oh, I'm sure she will when she has someone as talented as you teaching her, _Eonni_."

Soon-bok chewed on her bottom lip, as though she weren't completely committed to this decision yet. "_Eonni_, could you help me with this sum?"

Despite all the fun and games, they did somehow manage to finish all their schoolwork, finally falling asleep at eleven o'clock. They would be completely exhausted at school tomorrow, but it was well worth it.

At one in the morning, however, Young-jae awoke with an incredibly dry thirst in the back of her throat. She quietly pushed the covers back so she would not wake up her friends, and stepped lightly on her tiptoes so she wouldn't accidently step on them.

Once she was out of her bedroom, she noticed a dim glow coming from the living room. Because the apartment only had two bedrooms, Young-jae's grandmother slept on the living room floor. But what would she be doing up this late?

Young-crept towards the living room so she would see what was going on. There was a lit candle beside her bedroll and her grandmother was sitting up, hunched over something.

"Grandmother?"

Her grandmother's head suddenly snapped over her shoulder. "Young-jae! What are you doing up?"

Young-jae peered to the side to see her grandmother holding…a newspaper. A great deal of the paper had Chinese letters on it (which were never used in the Democratic Republic anymore), but what there was in _hangul_, Young-jae could read _Starvation Rampant_, _Citizens Forced to Leave Their Homes_, and _Incompetent Government Leaders_.

Young-jae's eyes went wide in shock and horror. Who would write such a horrible paper, never mind where would her grandmother get one when she barely left the house?

Young-jae's teachers had often told her that Americans, in an effort to destroy their socialist society, would print papers like this and drop them in Korean neighborhoods in order to dissuade people from the Party. Some especially traitorous Koreans would even help them!

But Young-jae's grandmother couldn't possibly be one of these people! Her family would notice. But even _having_ one of these papers was a terrible crime, one that people were sent away for. Young-jae didn't want anything like that to happen to her grandmother, but if she didn't tell anyone, she would be a collaborator. And being a collaborator in a political crime was almost as bad as committing the crime yourself.

"_Eomeoni_, _Abeoji_!" she shouted running towards her parents' room. "Come quick!"

Her parents were through the door in a matter of seconds, following Young-jae into the living room. But when they got there, Young-jae didn't see the paper anywhere. She couldn't even see the corners of it sticking out from under the blankets or the bedroll. And there was the faint smell of smoke in the air.

"It's alright, son," her grandmother said in a calm sweet voice. "I was reading and I knocked a candle over and it singed the blankets. It's out now, but I think it gave Young-jae quite a scare."

Young-jae looked over her shoulder to see her parents nodding in agreement. They believed her! But how could Young-jae accuse her grandmother of such a thing without the newspaper as proof?

"But it's fine now," she went on to say, "and Young-jae should go back to bed. We don't want her falling asleep in class."

At that, Young-jae's parents turned to go back to their bedroom, leaving Young-jae still standing dumbfounded.

"Listen to your grandmother, Young-jae."

Young-jae slowly turned back to her grandmother with a perplexed expression, but her grandmother's face was an expressionless mask. Eventually, Young-jae turned to go back to her room without the water she had come out to get in the first place. She stepped carefully over her sleeping friends, wondering if they knew just how close they had come to being collaborators themselves, and how it would have been Young-jae's fault for inviting them to sleepover in the first place.

She settled into her bed with her warm blankets and comfy pillow, but she really didn't sleep for the rest of the night. 

* * *

><p>"Young-jae! Your school pin fell off again!"<p>

Young-jae's attention snapped away from the running faucet and to the rectangle pin in her friend's outstretched palm.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed in relief as she took it back. This was the fifth time it had fallen off this week and it wasn't always this easy to find it. She would have gotten in a lot of trouble for losing this pin. It identified her as a student of Moran Bong Middle School Number One. Watching in the mirror, Young-jae pinned it just below her pin of the Great Leader, which all citizens of the Democratic People's Republic wore.

She would have to get a new pin anyway, though, if it kept falling off the way it did.

"You seem distracted today," her friend said, looking at her own reflection. "Oh! My braid came undone again! Can you fix it?"

Young-jae took the loose strands of the thin braid in her fingers, while at the same time holding onto the rubber band and the red ribbon. Yes, she was distracted, and not just from the lack of sleep.

Did Soon-bok and Gi-yun know how close they had come to being arrested for treason? Because they were at Young-jae's apartment when the incident occurred, they would have been seen as collaborators too, and Young-jae would never be able to forgive herself if her friends were punished because of bad luck!

There had been too many odd things going on in Young-jae's house lately, and she didn't like things that were out of the ordinary. Not one bit!

And yet, things like this seemed to happen at lot. When she had first started dance training, the teacher was teaching them jumps right next to the bar, and somehow, Young-jae jumped with so much energy that she landed feet first on top of the bar. What's more, she stuck the landing with perfect grace. The teacher just assumed Young-jae was incredibly strong and talented, so she started giving her more solos and more one-on-one attention. But for as much talent as Young-jae knew she had, she knew she couldn't have possibly done something like that at only six.

Other instances included five months ago when Young-jae had lost her faulty school pin on the subway. Finding it would have been impossible, and Young-jae had gone home prepared to be punished for it, but when she got to her room, there it was waiting on her desk. And that had actually been one of the more pleasant instances. There were many others that Young-jae really didn't want to think about at the moment.

Young-jae tied the bow at the end of the braid and let it drop. "Looks good now."

Just as Young-jae finished with the braid, a group of older girls walked into the bathroom and pushed the two ten-year-olds away from the mirror.

"Young-jae, let's go!" Soon-bok grabbed her friend's hand, trying to lead her away before trouble started.

But before Young-jae could really react either way, the faucet in front of one of the girls burst and sent water spraying in her face and all down her front. What's more, the water somehow split three ways so both her friends got soaked too. Young-jae stood, mouth wide in utter shock, while Soon-bok still led her away, laughing wildly as she did so.

"Did you see that?" Soon-bok gasped between more laughter. "It must have been karma! That was karma if I've ever seen it!"

Young-jae squirmed. "You shouldn't say things like that," she lectured, knowing Soon-bok's family just barely believed in the tenants of Buddhism. "Karma is silly superstition, and religious thoughts only take away devotion that could be given to the Great Leader."

Soon-bok's eyes drifted down to the floor. She knew Young-jae was right, of course, but Young-jae couldn't help feeling a little guilty. What she had said had almost nothing to do with patriotism, and everything to do with wanting to forget what had just happened.

"Let's go!" Young-jae took her turn leading Soon-bok to the door. What happened in the bathroom was enough for her to want her to end the day as soon as possible.

As they walked through the front door, they could see the Mass Games club practicing their brand new routine in their bright blue gymnastics uniforms. That was right where Soon-bok stopped. Young-jae was confused, but then she saw Gi-yun running towards them. "Soon-bok, I'm glad you're here! Come with me!"

Young-jae raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you coming to the Children's Palace today? You said you wouldn't be joining the Mass Games Club 'til Monday." It was only Thursday.

"Yes, but I want Soon-bok to at least meet the couches and watch the practice today. Maybe the teachers will even let her try practicing some of the steps."

Young-jae looked at her friend, but Soon-bok only kept looking at her sister's feet.

"Alright then," Young-jae said, feeling a little sad. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Soon-bok waved, but then followed her sister to go join the group of synchronized gymnasts, leaving Young-jae feeling suddenly feeling very alone as she left for her classes by herself.

People on the pavements pushed by Young-jae without even giving her a glance. It was so strange to be walking to the Children's Palace by herself. Every time before, Soon-bok and Young-jae would race, joke and laugh, Young-jae begging Soon-bok (who was more academic) to help with her homework, and Soon-bok begging Young-jae to stay after class with her to work with her on their newest song or dance routine.

Eventually, even the strangers dissipated, and Young-jae felt even more alone. Desire for individual glory was a completely anti-communist attitude. Maybe this loneliness was some sort of divine punishment—maybe even from the Eternal President—to teach her how to be a better communist.

Young-jae had never put that much thought into this before, and it wasn't a pleasant thing to think about.

It was as Young-jae drifted out of her own thoughts that she became very aware of a large shadow following just behind her.

As soon as she did turn around, however, she was stopped right in her tracks, not knowing whether what she saw was hilarious or terrifying.

It was a man, roughly the same age as her parents, but that's where any similarity stopped. His hair was long and part of it tied in a topknot decorated with gold ornaments. His robe-like clothing was ancient-style _hanbok_ in a brilliant shade of violet that Young-jae didn't know even existed, decorated in gold patterns. And Young-jae had to admit he was quite handsome, almost like a movie star. And if he did just coming from a movie set, that would certainly explain his clothes.

"Miss Ryang Young-jae, isn't it?" he said in a pleasant tone. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

The man knew her name? Now Young-jae knew for certain she should be terrified. But when she glanced around, there wasn't a soldier or city official to be found. How was that even possible?

"Who are you?"

"Ah, yes! How rude of me!" The man apologized before offering a low bow. "My name is Sun Bae-yul; Professor Sun Bae-yul, actually."

_Professor? Like Professor Won at Kim Il-sung University?_ This was just getting more and more confusing. First he was a movie actor, now he was a professor. Who was this man?

"Now 'Young-jae', that's an interesting name," he went on to say. "Isn't that traditionally a boy's name?"

Young-jae scowled. She had been hearing this all her life, but she liked her name! Most girls' names had the characters 'beautiful', 'grace', 'mild', things like that, again and again. Confucianism dictated that names should strongly infer gender, but Young-jae's name made her stand out, and she liked standing out!

"It means 'eternally prosperous', does it not?" he went on. "Your parents clearly wanted you to be successful at anything you tried. It shows a rather enlightened attitude, valuing your accomplishments over being beautiful or well-behaved."

Young-jae knew it was meant to be a compliment, but it still sat like an insult, as though she wasn't beautiful and could only cause trouble everywhere she went.

"Anyway," the man went on, "I was hoping I might have a moment to speak with you."

_Now_ things were really starting to get frightening. "I have _gayageum_ lessons at the Children's Palace," Young-jae said, stepping away. "I'm never late, so the teachers will know something's wrong if I'm not there."

_And she'll alert the authorities before you have a chance to do anything to me!_

But the man didn't seem to hear what Young-jae was implying. "Oh, I promise it won't take long," he said, stepping closer. "It will just be long enough to arrange a meeting later."

It was at those last words that Young-jae bolted away full force. At some point, she lost her book bag, but she had more important things to worry about. Surely her parents and teachers would excuse her once she told them she had lost them running away from a kidnapper.

She wondered if she should even tell any of her teachers what had happened. The man hadn't actually _done_ anything to her, and everyone would just end up panicking for no reason. It wasn't as though the man would be hard to find, as strangely dressed and acting as he was, but Young-jae wasn't really sure she was upset enough to go through the headache that would have followed reporting him. Even once she reached the Mangyongdae Children's Palace, she still wasn't sure.

But once she reached the top of the stairs, there she saw him standing again. He stood idly, almost looking bored. How could he have possibly beaten her there? What's more, how could he, dressed that way, possibly be standing there without a crowd of children pointing and laughing at him?

What's more, why was there _still_ not a soldier or government official to be found? Normally they could be seen everywhere, so why was it that the one time Young-jae was in really in danger that she couldn't find one?

The man barely met her eyes when Young-jae took off back down the stairs again. There would obviously be no _gayageum_ lesson for her today. She could say she had hurt her wrist falling down in gym class, and the school nurse said no music lessons until it was better. It wasn't as though her _gayageum_ teacher was actually going to call and check.

Fighting her way through the crowds on the pavement moving against her, Young-jae was gasping and wheezing as though she were an old man. It was by no means a short walk to her apartment. It usually took a half hour to walk home from classes, but today, Young-jae managed to make the distance in little more than fifteen minutes. It might have been safer to take the subway, but if you happened to be on the train during a power outage, you could be trapped in your car for hours. Young-jae could remember this happening to her and her mother when she was seven, and it was not an experience she wanted to repeat.

Once on her block, Young doubled over, grabbing onto her knees, taking in as much air as she could. She actually felt like she was going to throw up. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see people walking past her, but no one stopped to ask her if she was okay, which was just fine with Young-jae. She really didn't want to explain what had brought her to this position.

When Young-jae finally did look up, she felt that profound shock and fear once again. Young-jae knew she was fast and could easily outrun any adult she knew, say nothing about an adult wearing ridiculous, impractical robes. And yet, there he was again, standing in front of the doors to her apartment! And Young-jae was now too tired to go running in the other direction again. She couldn't think of anywhere else to run to.

"My goodness, you're fast!" he exclaimed in surprise before pulling something out from behind his back, holding it out to Young-jae. "I thought you might be wanting this."

It was her school bag! Why hadn't she seen him holding it when he had been outside the Mangyongdae Children's Palace? Not giving the man enough time to try anything, she snatched the bag out of his hands and held it tightly to her chest. But the man, Professor Sun, remained as calm and collected as ever.

"But now that you won't be going to your music class after all, maybe you'd be willing to speak with me now."

Young-jae didn't even bother with any sort of response this time. She barely let Professor Sun finish his sentence before she bolted for the door, throwing it open with as much force as a ten-year-old was capable of. With no elevators (again, as a result of the constant power outages), Young-jae was forced to run up the six flights of stairs. She was even pretty sure she could run up the stairs faster than an elevator could take her, and all she cared about was speed.

By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was so tired and out of breath, that she couldn't find the energy to be horrified when she saw Professor Sun waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

"Still not willing to talk, I see."

Young-jae ran the rest of the distance with her eyes squeezed shut, trying to fight off frightened tears. Her legs were throbbing and her chest was constricting, but finally she reached her front door. She actually fell to the floor, not really worrying about the man catching up to her, but she was just so exhausted. In fact, it was a miracle that Young-jae even landed on her knees and not flat on her stomach.

In fact, Young-jae was still crawling on her knees when she reached for the knob and wasn't able to stand until she had inched inside and shut the door behind her.

"Grandmother!" she shouted as she started on the locks. "Don't let anyone in the apartment! All the way home, there was a strange man following me…"

Young-jae's voice trailed off as she saw a head with a black topknot visible over the back of the chair. The man peered over the left side of the chair, but that wasn't necessary for Young-jae to recognize Professor Sun.

"I'm sorry, Miss Ryang, but you wouldn't listen to me, so I had to go over your head."

Young-jae couldn't believe it! It was one thing for the man to find her on his own, but she couldn't believe her own family would help this Professor Sun kidnap her! "Grandmother! What are you thinking? You really do want to get rid of me!"

"Young-jae!" her grandmother snapped, so much more intensely than she ever had before. "You will _not_ be so rude to our guests ever again! Now go to your room! You can either start on your homework or take some much needed time to collect yourself!"

The glare on her grandmother's face was one she had never seen before, and it left no room for argument. Young-je sidestepped her way to her room, not taking her eyes off either adult. Professor Sun didn't take his eyes off her either. The man looked almost apologetic for getting her scolded.

When Young-jae finally did make it to her bedroom, she slumped down to the floor and sighed deeply. She also mentally prepared herself for being snatched from behind and having a sack shoved over her head.

**Chapter End Notes:**

Here there are going to be some more culture notes still, and they are going to be a lot more extensive.

_**Eomeoni:**_ mother  
><em><strong>Abeoji:<strong>_ father

There is a reason why Hae-won and Young-jae use different names to refer to their parents, and not just for the sake of the story. _Eomeoni_ and _Abeoji_! are the rough equivilent of 'mother' and 'father' in our language, as opposed to 'mom' and 'dad', which Hae-won calls her parents, _Appa_ and _Eomma_.

The former is consider more formal and much more dated. And because Korea has been complete split and cut off from one another since WWII, it would make sense that North Korean language would seem more dated and not have gone through the same linguistic evolutions and the South Korean language.

But it most South Korean movies, characters refer to their parents as _Appa_ and _Eomma_, while in documenteries about North Korea, parents are called _Eomeoni_ and _Abeoji_.

**_gayageum:_** a traditional Korean zither-like string instrument, with 12 strings

**Great Leader, Eturnal President:** these are all titles used to refer to Kim Il-sung, the founder of North Korea, who is still worship almost like a God in the country.

**Dear Leader, the General:** these are titles used to rerfer to the current leader of North Korea, who, for the sake of site rules, will not be named, just like J.K. never named the British Prime Minister in Book 7. Besides, it could be argued these titles would have been given to Kim Il-sung's successor, no matter who they turned out to be.

And while a lot of the things you read about in this story might seem strange (such as state radios that can't be turned off, living without electricity, and the constant hate of Americans), it is all quite true. My favorite source of information has been documentories. Quite a few are offered on Netflix, but my favorite _State of Mind_ can be found on Youtube.

It is quite educational and very creepy, but definately worth seeing if you want to know more about life in North Korea. It could also be helpful in gaining a little background for reading this story.


End file.
